


The Thick Plottens

by etherealApostate



Series: Gravity Fails [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherealApostate/pseuds/etherealApostate
Summary: Bill makes a discovery about the mysterious adimensional power that he and Dipper have been pursuing. Wendy comes for a very awkward visit.





	

The Mystery Shack was closed for business.

On a Wednesday afternoon, this was the norm, at least after the June incident.

Dipper was in his bedroom, the dusty attic light filtering in over him as he regarded, for a moment, the empty bed across from his.

He looked up as he heard footsteps in the hall.

“How goes the research?” Bill had entered without knocking, and sat on the empty bed. His posture was the usual splayed stiffness, and he rested his cane across his whore-spread knees. Dipper regarded him in silence for a moment. He’d said nothing, but Bill had to know there was a reason that bed was kept bare.

“Good, I guess.” Dipper picked up an intimidating codex and laid it on his knee; it was open to a page of infinitesimal Gothic script. “The taxonomy of physicality in these texts is… weird, to say the least. I’m starting to think that whoever wrote this didn’t even have a strict ideation of physicality.”

Bill tilted his head. “Interesting conclusion, Pine Tree.”

“Would you say that’s wrong?”

“Not per se. I’d say that symbolism replaces physicality in the internal interactive modus of the text.”

Dipper raised an eyebrow. “That would explain why the wendigo was so hard to kill. It was a converse parallel to your own –“

“Exactly,” Bill cut him off, and began to chew absently at his fingernail.

“It makes sense. You were crying when I found you,” Dipper noted.

Bill spat out a fingernail and scowled. “Yes, correct, you win.” Bill stood. “Anyway, unless we’re going to continue discussing the pointless chemical weaknesses in this stupid neuron jello” – he thumped his temple – “I’ve got news.”

Dipper shut the codex.

“I’ve been doing some research of my own. That runic code you couldn’t crack?” Bill placed his cane upright between his thighs and leaned forward on it. The glint in his eye was almost  like a fairy’s glamour – Dipper _had_ to look. “Guess who cracked it.”

The spell was broken. Dipper rolled his eyes. Bill grinned. “C’mon, kid. I deserve _all_ the _kleos_ for that one.”

“What’s it say.”

“It points to a transgression of physical boundaries made possible by a physical re-enactment of certain scenes. Namely” – Bill ran his tongue over his teeth – “the hanging. And ya know what the best part is?” Bill stood, stepped in front of Dipper, and cupped Dipper’s chin in one hand.

Face forced up, Dipper gritted out, “What.”

“It has to be a pure, one hundred percent, thoroughbred _human_ who enacts the ritual.”

Dipper rose, grabbed Bill by the lapels of his stupid yellow blazer, and pulled Bill’s face down to his own. “Don’t fucking play with me. You’d do anything to see me hang.”

A smile danced across Bill’s thin lips. “And you’d do anything for what this can offer you.”

Dipper released Bill, his face unreadable. “We’ll talk over it again by the next new moon,” Bill said. “There’s your ultimatum.” He slipped out the door, laughing to himself.

Dipper ran one sleeve across his chin, as if to cleanse himself of Bill’s grip.

He needed a drink, he decided.

 

Two hours later, Dipper heard the doorbell ring from downstairs.

When he made it to the front door, Wendy was waiting. She was disheveled, holding a large jar of clear liquid, and she smelled of burnt hair.

“Hey. Nest of changelings,” she said, sweeping past Dipper as he held the door open. “I’ve found that the best solution is good old TNT.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, the starvation sigil is always pretty risky.”

Wendy laughed – her old laugh, the one that left warmth in the pit of Dipper’s stomach. “C’mon, scrub. Like you’ve ever taken out a whole nest.”

For the first time in weeks, Dipper smiled genuinely. “OK, true. I’ve also never tasted your uncle’s moonshine. Wanna break me in?”

“Sure thing,” Wendy said as they entered the living room. Both flopped on the flearidden couch; Wendy unscrewed the top of the jar and took a long draught. “Nothing like a good drink after a long day of hunting.” She passed the jar to Dipper.

He took a sip and gagged. “God, how do you drink this stuff? This is worse than pure Everclear!” Nonetheless, Dipper managed to scrunch up his face and take a proper sip.

Wendy raised an eyebrow. “How do you gag on this stuff? I heard about what you and Bill did to Alex Sanders,” she said in a lowered voice. “I understand taking him out, I guess, but I dunno how you could just _watch_ and let Bill eat his heart and everything!”

Dipper’s smile immediately faded. Oh. It was best, he decided, not to let Wendy know the details.

Instead, “He-- he gets carried away,” Dipper said tentatively. “Must be an ex-demon thing.”

Wendy shrugged like she had something more to say but was refraining. An awkward moment passed.

“So, you’ve been in touch with Pacifica, I guess?” Dipper asked, trying to bring the subject to a different route.

Wendy glanced over as if just noticing him, and took another sip of moonshine. “Oh. Yeah. The whole scene did a real number on her.” Thankfully, she declined to pass any further judgment on Dipper and Bill’s behavior, and instead said, “I’m kinda surprised, though. She’s done her share of fucked-up shit, too.”

Dipper took his turn at the jar. “I guess. I think her dad deserved it.”

Wendy was about to ask, _does anyone really deserve that_? When Bill waltzed into the room, spied the jar of alcohol, and grabbed it. He chugged for a solid ten seconds.

“Bill, you idiot,” Dipper said, the words warm against the residue of liquor in his throat. “You’re more lightweight than a shaved pigeon. You’re gonna throw up in like ten minutes.”

“I’ve been _practicing_!” Bill exclaimed defensively, setting the jar back down. It was noticeably less full.

Dipper, for the second time in three hours, rolled his eyes. “So that’s where my Jack went.”

Bill grinned and sat himself between Wendy and Dipper, an arm around each. Wendy gave him a cutting glare and took her own large sip of moonshine.

Bill pointed to the jar. “This shit tastes almost as nasty as that last guy’s raw heart!”

Wendy did a double take and then another gulp. She passed the jar to Dipper, who sat consigned to this helplessly awkward situation.

“Did you get any trophies from the changeling nest?” He asked Wendy.

“TNT doesn’t leave a lot of trophies.”

Dipper laughed uneasily. “That’s a shame. Mabel would’ve loved – “ and then he went pale.

Another silence.

“I think I’m gonna go,” Wendy said, rising. “It’s been real, guys.”

Dipper rather wanted to scream.

“No, uh, wait,” he said desperately. “There’s something really cool, you’ll really wanna hear about it—“

Bill’s head snapped towards Dipper. “ _No_ ,” he hissed.

 _Shut up_ , Dipper mouthed, then as Wendy turned back to him: “I think we’ve got a lead on what Alex was after. The superdimensional _thing_.  Y’know?”

Wendy looked puzzled. “I dunno, man, I don’t tend to mess with that shit.”

“No, no,” Dipper stood, and felt a little rush from the alcohol. “C’mon. It doesn’t get you _into_ anything to know about it. And if anyone asks, we didn’t tell you, right?”

Wendy nodded hesitantly. “I guess.”

“Follow me,” Dipper said, and headed for the stairs. “It starts with this one codex…”

 


End file.
